Crackerjack
by jespah
Summary: Did you ever hear about the time that Wesley and Geordi saw Ted Williams hit a home run?
1. Chapter 1

"Grandpop! Grandpop!"

Five grandchildren – well, one was a step-grandchild, but who's counting? Those five ran at a man who looked a bit old and tired, and had just plunked himself into an overstuffed easy chair.

"Now, kids! Grandpop's tired. He's already had a long day," Ellen Crusher Farley sighed. There was no stopping the kids once they got started. Sure, her two were older, but Pop never seemed to be able to deny them.

"It's all right," said her father, straightening up just a little.

"How does it feel to be _old_?" asked little Jack Crusher, Ellen's elder nephew.

" _Jack_!" Cynthia Farley was, at fourteen, far too sophisticated for such antics.

"Well, a hundred is really old," her younger sister, Tara, was a bit less subtle.

"Yes, it's really old," their grandfather said, "I was born in 2348. Can you believe that?"

"That's like a million billion years ago!" enthused Scotty Chen, the aforementioned step-grandchild.

Tad Crusher, the youngest of the grandchildren, just crawled into his Grandpop's lap and said, "Story!"

"C'mon, kids, let him rest!" Ellen protested.

"It's okay, Ellie; I don't mind. Just tell me, where's your mother?"

"She and Tim and Mei-Lien went out for a walk. They wanted to work off your birthday dinner."

"It was wonderful," her father said, "especially dessert. A Betazoid woman I knew long ago – she would've really appreciated the chocolate frosting on the cake. Now," he addressed the children directly, "I would be happy to tell a story. But who wants to hear one?"

"Me! Me!" yelled Scotty.

"Anyone else?"

"Me, too!" Jack exclaimed.

"Um, okay," said Cynthia. Tara nodded. The two girls settled into a small sofa near the overstuffed chair as the boys – all except for Tad, not moving from his grandfather's lap – got comfortable on the floor.

Ellen looked on and smiled, thinking a little about getting out her camera, but deciding against it. _My memory has enough film in it_ , she said to herself.

"All right. I'm gonna tell you about the time I saw Ted Williams hit a home run. It was back in 2366. I bet that feels like a thousand years ago to all of you."

"It's eighty-two years ago," Tara said.

"That's right. I was eighteen."

=/\=

The shuttle flew away from the Kreetassan home world, expertly piloted.

"So, what'd you think about the ceremony?" asked Geordi La Forge as he worked the controls. "It did get you out and about a bit. You've gotta admit, Wes, sometimes all you do is work. And all work and no play, well, you know the rest of it."

"It was all right," said the young man beside him. "But I can't wait to get back to the _Enterprise_."

"Agreed, Wes, the food was, eh, well, let's just say I'd rather have replicated liver and onions."

A low volume alarm went off. "That's strange," Wes said, "I'm getting fluctuating energy readings."

"Huh, wait, over there!" Geordi pointed.

"I can't see anything."

"Computer, filter to show infrared waves."

The view screen changed, and a pulsing beam appeared on the starboard side. It undulated irregularly, a Spanish dancer made solely of energy.

"It's a bit – I think it's like an old pulse shot; but it's done with infrared somehow, and not with a phaser," Geordi guessed.

"Evasive action," Wes said, "new heading to port."

" _3629 mark 515_ ," Geordi acknowledged, "Damn! Looks like it's following us!"

"That thing can't possibly have a mind of its own. Let's try evasive maneuver Delta five."

The shuttle rocked but they couldn't shake the undulating infrared pulse. "It's still coming right for us!"

"It's still not working," Wes said. He punched up Communications. "To the _Enterprise_ , and any other ships in the area, this is the _Monongahela_! We have an irregular infrared energy reading, mark five-one-five, no, now it's mark five-one-six. We are going to have an impact. Repeat, there is an –"

His message was interrupted by the impact, which rocked the shuttle even more than evasive maneuver Delta five had. The star field outside the shuttle's main viewer went milky and hazy for a minute or so. After what seemed like an eternity, the stars finally resumed their usual sharp brilliance.

"Are you all right, Wesley?"

"Yeah, I think so. Geordi, do you recall seeing a star cluster before the impact on the, uh, the port side of us?"

"Huh. There's no cluster now."

Another alarm went off. This one was louder and more insistent. "We've got hull damage. We'd better find a class M planet, and soon," Wesley said, his voice betraying a little fear.

Geordi checked Navigation. "I, hmm, I think the closest class M planet might be Earth."

"Earth? But we were just at the Kreetassan home world!" Wesley thought for a second. "Then maybe Jupiter Station can hear us." He tried Communications again. "Jupiter Station, this is the _Monongahela_. We have taken damage. Repeat, we have damage."

There was no response but static.

"I'll try boosting the signal," Geordi said, but the only result was louder static.

"Maybe a different frequency would work."

Wes fiddled with the controls, but the static continued until they finally heard what seemed to be some sort of broadcast.

 _"_ _This is the BBC. Operation Countenance has begun. Repeat: Operation Countenance has begun. Our military forces have begun raids into Iran. Soviet Union forces have announced the planned destruction of the Dnieper dam at Zaporozhye, in order to keep it from falling into German hands. Air raids continue over London and mainland Europe as the state of war is maintained on the land, even as major sea victories have been achieved earlier this year. Citizens are encouraged to check on their neighbors during air raid drills. In particular, elderly neighbors may need assistance in getting to shelters. And now back to our program of music, with Duke Ellington's Take the A Train."_

Music began, a full orchestra playing an upbeat tune.

Geordi turned off the broadcast. "I hope that's either a joke or a historical rebroadcast. 'Cause if it's not, we've just landed in the 1930s or 1940s."

"Let's hope it's a joke."

But as they continued flying, it became obvious, when they noticed that Mars had not yet been terraformed, and they could not see any satellites orbiting the Earth.

"Wanna venture a guess on the correct year?" Geordi asked.

"Well, World War II is, what, 1930-something to 1945, right? It's long before _Sputnik_ , of course."

"I wonder, maybe we can get a broadcast from Vulcan," Geordi said, "We could get a star date."

There was only more static. "I think that infrared energy pulse is causing the interference," Wes said.

"That's as plausible a theory as any. Look, we're going to need to make repairs. We'll need tin, carbon and iron. I think our best bet is a major city," Geordi said.

"We can't touch down in a major city; we'll mess with the timeline too much. We'd better land some place without a lot of people."

Another alarm went off, and it was far louder. "That's all right in theory," Geordi said, "but it looks like we can't wait for niceties. We need to get down! Now!"

It was a river, and the area was a bit wooded. The shuttle bumped a little as Wesley brought it to a stop. "It feels like landing thrusters are out, too," he said.

"We've gotta hide this thing," Geordi said, "and then, uh, find the tin, carbon and iron, repair the shuttle and, well, after that I'm a little tapped when it comes to ideas."

"I wonder what would happen if we hit that energy pulse from the other way?" Wes asked.

"Let's think about that as we go. In the meantime, grab a phaser. I think we need to fell a tree or two."

They didn't cut down any trees, just lopped off branches with their hand phasers. It was sweaty work getting the branches in place, but they finally had the shuttle reasonably hidden.

"We'll need clothes for the time period," Wes said, programming the replicator, "And for the weather. It feels like, I dunno, June, maybe. I'll put in for 1935."

They put the clothes on, which included caps for both of them, but one thing was sticking out like a sore thumb. "Geordi, your visor."

"Right. Damn. Hmm, I've read a little about the history of blindness. For most of the twentieth century, blind people would wear sunglasses when they left their homes, regardless of the weather."

"All right, let's try that," Wesley reprogrammed the replicator, "uh, wait, I'll get it to replicate a duffle bag, too, so that we can carry the materials back and carry your visor, too."

"Good thinking," Geordi held the unfamiliar sunglasses in his hands. "I'll have to depend on you for getting around," he said, "I don't love being so dependent."

"We've gotta do this. I think you can wear the visor until we hit civilization. But let me take a look at you before we go anywhere."

Geordi put on the glasses. In order to hold his visor in place and allow it to interface directly with his brain, there were two implanted posts that lit up, one on each of Geordi's temples. Wesley adjusted the sunglasses, and was able to get them to cover the two little posts. "How's that feel?"

"It's okay," Geordi said, "we, uh, this society uses money."

Wes replicated one hundred dollars. "I hope that's enough."

They left the shuttle and began to walk in the direction toward what was, they hoped, the nearest city.


	2. Chapter 2

After a couple of hours of walking, there was a marked increase in lights. "Now we're talkin'," Geordi said.

There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. "We should find shelter," Wesley said.

More walking got them into the heart of what appeared to be a fairly large city, but they were both too tired to pay much attention to their surroundings, and didn't even bother to try to find out where they were.

Then they found a park, with a large open building that had lots of steps but seemed to not be occupied. Their echoing footsteps told them that the floor and stairs were made of some sort of stone. They mounted the steps and got onto the floor and leaned next to what was some sort of statue. It was not very comfortable, but it would have to do. Geordi put on the sunglasses and Wesley tucked the visor into the duffle bag. Sleep came easily.

=/\=

There were voices, and those woke Geordi and Wesley. Wesley blinked a few times in the morning light, and it took him a moment to figure out where he was.

The building had Greek columns in front, and was made of stone – granite, perhaps. Everything was rather squarish. There was an enormous statue of a seated, bearded man. "It's, uh, Geordi, this is the Lincoln Memorial."

"Huh. Then we're in Washington, DC."

There had been a bit of thunder earlier, and the rain finally came. "I'll see if I can get us some food," Wes said, "uh, wait here, okay?"

"I got nowhere else to go."

Wesley ran out into the downpour. He looked around a little to get his bearings, and then saw a small café. He jogged over to see if it was open. It was a small lunch counter. A cook was frying up pancakes. Perfect.

He ran back toward the Memorial and, just as abruptly as it had started, the rain shower stopped.

While Wesley was investigating, Geordi stood near the open entryway. Sensing that the rain had stopped, he put his hand out, palm up, in order to check.

And into his outstretched palm, someone dropped a couple of coins, and they clinked. "What?" he called out, "Excuse me, you dropped something."

But whoever had given him charity was long gone. He stood there, a little dumbfounded and another, heavier coin was pressed into his palm. Nonplussed, he blurted out the only word that came to mind, "Thanks."

Wes returned. "There's like a little diner; it's not far. Hey, you got forty cents."

"These people must think I'm a panhandler," Geordi said, "this is a strange time."

"Well, they probably think they're being kind. Anyway, take my arm and we'll get some breakfast, all right?"

They walked together, a bit slowly, for they were both unused to walking like that. They got to the lunch counter and Wes opened the door.

The proprietor looked at both of them and frowned. "We don't serve his kind here." He pointed to a sign on the wall that said _Whites Only_.

"He uses the same money that you and I do," Wesley protested.

"And I don't care if he is the color of money. You can stay. But he's got to go."

Wes stood there for a second, stunned.

"What's the problem?" Geordi asked.

"I, uh, I'll tell you when we get outside." Wes guided his friend out of the little café. "Can I ask you a question, Geordi?"

"Uh, sure."

The two of them started walking. "Geordi, are you ever, uh, ever glad to be blind?"

"Glad? Huh, well, pretty much never. Why do you ask?"

"Because right now I kinda want to be blind so that I don't have to look at any more bigots."

"Gotcha."

=/\=

"What's a bigot?" asked Scotty.

Wesley sighed. "The kind of person I really hope that you kids never, ever have to meet. It's, there are people who prejudge others, based on skin color, or religion, or species, or who they love, things like that. They make judgments without knowing the individual at all."

"That's really stupid," Cynthia said, "I mean, it's like jumping to conclusions without knowing all the facts about somebody. What if you're really wrong? I know I'd be, like, totally mortified."

Ellen had to smile at her teenaged daughter's logic. "Fortunately, there aren't too many of those people left. But yanno, I bet there's more to this story. Your Grandpop hasn't even gotten to the baseball game yet."

"Ah yes. I am getting to that."

=/\=

Wesley spotted a fruit vendor, his wares open to the elements now that the rain had stopped. "Those apples look good. Apple okay for you?"

"Sure," said Geordi, "just not one of the really tart ones."

Wesley selected two yellow apples and paid for them. The vendor was an older man, who said, "You fellas going to the double header today?" He had some sort of an accent and dropped his Rs.

"Double header?" Wes asked.

"Sure! The Red Sox are in town to play the Senators. 'Course our Hometown Nine are no match for 'em – I think even the diehards know that – but it'd be a treat to see Ted Williams hit, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess it would," Wes said.

"Whadda ya mean you guess?" the vendor was apparently a huge fan. "They got Bobby Doerr, and Joe Cronin and Jimmie Foxx! 'Course they got the wrong DiMaggio, but you can't have everything, eh?"

"I suppose not," Geordi said, "uh, where are these games playing?"

"You don't know Griffith Stadium?"

"Uh, we're not from here," Wesley said.

"Well, you can't miss it. Just get on the streetcar and ask anyone."

"Great, thanks," Geordi said.

Wesley moved his friend over to an alley so that they could talk with a bit of privacy, "Uh, what are you doing? We're not here for fun."

"I am well aware of that," Geordi said, "but do you know where you can get scrap iron, or carbon or tin around here? And do you want to spend tonight at the Jefferson Memorial instead, perhaps?"

"We don't even know if it's built yet," Wes pointed out.

" _Touché_. But still, we are going to need to talk to the natives a bit, and not just a fruit vendor who's crazy for baseball. Besides, it might be a little fun. I mean, how often do you get to spend time in the past?"

"I'd like to get home and spend time in the present."

"Fair enough. Just, a quick indulgence. Besides, we can get hot dogs, I bet. Gotta supplement this all-apple diet with something, right?"

"I guess so," Wesley admitted defeat. "But we need to get our stuff in gear. I don't even know what date it is."

"Well, look for clues. I'm afraid I can't help you much with that, but we know it's around the time of World War II and Duke Ellington was playing on the radio."

"Okay." The two of them left the alley, with Geordi again holding onto Wesley's arm. "Say, uh, Mister?" Wesley asked the fruit vendor.

"Yeah, son?"

"Do you know what today's date is? Or at least do you have the news?"

"Actually, here, I got today's paper if you want it," the vendor said, getting it for Wes. "No charge; you're a good boy, helping out a blind man like that."

"Uh, thank you, sir. My mother raised me well."

"That much is obvious. Here."

Wesley looked at the newspaper and found the date in the upper right hand corner: _September first, 1941_.


	3. Chapter 3

Griffith Stadium was a streetcar ride away, on Georgia Avenue and Fifth Street. Wesley walked up to the ticket window; Geordi held onto his arm. "Uh, two, please, for both of today's double header games," Wesley said.

"Here. Fifteen B and Eighty-six R," said the ticket taker.

"Sir, we'd like to sit together," Wes said.

"You can't unless you sit in the Colored Section."

"Then I'll sit in that section," Wesley said.

"Suit yourself," the ticket taker muttered under his breath, "stupid kid," but he did get them two seats together.

They walked up some steps to get to their seats. The stadium was about three-quarters filled. It seemed like every adult was wearing some sort of hat, as were many of the children. Most of the men wore suits, and the women often wore nice skirts. Going to the ballgame was something of an _event_.

Their seats were near a young woman who was sitting by herself. "Excuse me, Miss," Wesley said, "but I think we have these two over here."

"Ah, I was wondering if I'd get some company," she said. She had a bit of a gentle drawl to her voice.

"We, uh, we haven't been to a game here before," Wes said, "Do you know who the players are?"

"I do," she said, "over there, warming up for us – oh my, we have a terrible team, but we do play with a lotta heart – there's Cecil Travis. He bats cleanup. And that fella over there is George Archie. He has such kind eyes. I got his autograph once. And that man there's Buddy Lewis, the third baseman. He always looks so serious."

"What about the Red Sox?" Geordi asked.

"I, well, let's see, there's Bobby Doerr who plays second base. And next to him, see the one with all the freckles? That's Joe Cronin. He plays third. Oh, my," her voice went down, it seemed, a decibel.

"What's the matter, Miss?" asked Wesley.

"I, your friend, I shouldn't be saying _look at this_ , and _you can see that_. It's not very nice of me."

"It's all right," Geordi said, "I've heard those words before."

"I just, I don't want to be unkind."

"I get the feeling you can't be unkind," Geordi said.

"Um, this is my friend, Geordi La Forge. And I'm Wesley Crusher."

"My name is Rosemary Parker," she said, "I am glad to know you." She shook their hands and Geordi could feel the lace gloves she was wearing.

"Well, Miss Rosemary Parker, you seem to be quite the fan," Geordi said. "Tell me some more about what you see on the field, okay?"

"Well, hmm, there's Dom DiMaggio, the Little Professor, with his wireframe eyeglasses. And walking near to him is Ted Williams. Oh, it looks like we're about to get started."

The announcer called for quiet and they all rose for the _Star Spangled Banner_. Wes noticed that the men had taken their hats off so he did the same, and made sure to take off Geordi's cap as well.

Rosemary sang along with the anthem, in a pretty soprano. Then they sat down, and the game began.

"So tell me, Mister La Forge …"

"Please, call me Geordi."

"Uh, Geordi, is that short for Jordan, like the Jordan River of the Bible?"

"Huh, actually, it's just Geordi."

"Oh, how interesting. How do you, uh, how did Mister Crusher come to be your companion?"

"We work together. Or, rather, I work with his mother. But he does some work sometimes, too," Geordi smiled, and the two of them laughed easily.

It was right about then that Wesley realized he was a fifth wheel. "I'm going to see if I can get us some hot dogs. Do you want anything, Miss Parker?"

"It's all right."

"Well, I'd like to get you something, uh, from us," Wes said.

"Definitely," Geordi said, "in payment for your play by play services."

Rosemary looked down. "If you don't mind, can you get me Crackerjacks? I will pay you, of course."

"It's no trouble," Wes said, "Crackerjacks it is." He left and said to himself when he was out of earshot, "now if I can only figure out what Crackerjacks are."

He found a hot dog vendor within the Main Concourse area, and then saw a woman with a box that said _Crackerjacks_ on the side. "Where did you get that?" he asked her. She pointed.

He stood on a line for a while, and could tell he was missing an inning or two, perhaps more. It didn't matter. Geordi was clearly having a wonderful time.

He finally got the box and made his way back to their seats. "Sorry it took me a while," he explained, "the line was long for this. I bet it's really good," he handed the box to Rosemary.

"Oh, it's just, you know, it's just sweetened popcorn and peanuts. I like it for the prize." She opened up the box and offered them some.

"Prize?" Geordi asked.

"You really aren't from around here," Rosemary said, "There's always a little prize in the Crackerjack box. Usually it's a little paper booklet of jokes, things like that."

Wesley dug around a little bit. "Hang on, I think I found it." He took out a small item wrapped in white paper.

"Yes! That's it!" Rosemary exclaimed. She opened it. "It's a little tin ring."

"Tin?" Geordi asked, "Is there any place where we could get more tin? I mean a lot more than this." He turned the little ring over in his hands, feeling its contours.

"Hmm, there's a city dump. There's all sorts of scrap metal in there."

"So they might have iron, too?" Wes asked.

"Probably," she said, "why do you ask?"

"It's, um, well, our vehicle is damaged and we need to repair it," Geordi explained.

"Oh. I wish Freddie were here. He could help you. He was so mechanically inclined."

"Freddie?" Geordi asked, suddenly a bit concerned.

"My brother. Actually, I'm sitting in; this was supposed to be his seat."

"Well, I for one am glad you're sitting here instead," Geordi said.

Wes turned his attention away and instead watched the game. The scoreboard said it was the fifth inning. Ted Williams came up to bat, striding purposefully. No one was on base. Alex Carrasquel wound up and threw.

The crack of the bat was unmistakable. "Oh my God, look at that!" yelled Wesley.

"What? Where?" Geordi asked.

"He hit a home run!" Rosemary exclaimed.

"He just hit it against your team," Geordi said.

"I know," she said, grinning, "And our team is horrid. It's just such a pleasure to witness skill, y'all know what I mean?"

"I know exactly what you mean," Geordi said.

=/\=

"So is that the whole story?" asked Jack.

"Well, that's the home run. Actually, Williams hit two homers in that game, and then another in the second game he played that day."

"But I get the feeling that's not the end of the story," Ellen said.

"Well, of course not!" Cynthia said, "Grandpop didn't even get back to the right time period yet."

"That's right," Wesley said, "there's still a lot more to tell."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the second game ended, all three of them were exhausted. "Do you have plans?" Rosemary asked, "If it's not too forward of me to inquire."

"No, not at all," Geordi said, "I don't think we have plans. Do we, Wes?"

"Well, we need to gather metal to make our repairs."

"Right, but I suppose you would do better after eating," Rosemary said.

"I – uh, I guess we – could take you to dinner," Geordi offered.

"That's rather kind of you, but that seems so, well, it's a lot," Rosemary said, "and my father expects me to be home to cook for him, you see."

"Well, can we see you safely home?" Geordi asked.

"I would like that," she said.

"Can I talk to you?" Wesley asked Geordi.

"Uh, sure, just a moment, Rosemary." The two of them went into the Main Concourse area, where most of the fans were already filing out. "What's up?"

"Are you forgetting that we're supposed to be trying to get back?" Wes asked.

"I am not forgetting! She's right, you know, we won't be able to concentrate if we're hungry."

"And now you're wangling a dinner invitation from her! She's a nice person and we have to leave, remember? You're only going to make her feel worse if you keep stretching this out."

"Really?" Geordi asked. That thought hadn't quite dawned on him.

"Yeah, really. You can't see – uh, sorry, but you can't – she's, the way she is looking at you. She _likes_ you. And it's just not right; at least, I don't think it is! What is she gonna do, and how is she gonna feel, by tomorrow or the next day or so when you're gone? I mean, I don't intend to hang around here for a week, do you?"

"Well …"

"Or is it that you wanna stay here?" Wes asked, getting a bit angry. "Are you telling me you wanna leave the _Enterprise_ and all of that and just stay here? Is that it? Because if it is, well, do me a favor and help me get the _Monongahela_ working again. I'll leave you here, if that's what you really want, and I'll take my chances out there with that, that infrared pulse! And I'll tell Captain Picard and the others that we got caught by an infrared pulse and you lost your freakin' mind!"

"Wesley!"

There was murmuring around them. Wes turned to look, "Son, don't be yelling at that man, it ain't charitable," said an onlooker.

"Right," agreed other onlookers, "that man can't help it that he can't see."

"I, I know that," Wesley said, "that's not what's making me upset."

"Son, does it matter? Listen, at the end of the day, you're gonna go home, and you'll be an educated white boy with sight. You got your whole future ahead of you. And he'll go home, and he'll be a colored blind man with I don't know what sorts of prospects. Now you think about that a little bit while you go over in your mind what you're gonna say next," said another onlooker.

"I, man," Geordi sighed, "I don't need to be defended from Wes here. I, uh, I thank you for your concern." The other people left.

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled," Wes said, "I just want to go home. That guy, he's kinda right, except for the part about me going home. Don't you wanna see your home – our home – again, Geordi?"

"I do," he admitted, "and I'm not thinking straight. I, I like her. I like her _a lot_. I don't often meet women who are that easy to talk to, so quickly. She's sweet and pleasant and smart – and my being blind doesn't seem to faze her one bit. I want you to understand something about me, as a man. You're getting to a point in your life where your studies and your job are all well and good, but you want some companionship. Well, imagine being someone who has a tough time getting it."

"I don't have to imagine that," Wesley said, "most girls scare the hell outta me."

Geordi smiled at that. "I'd have thought you'd have it fairly easy. But I guess I was wrong. Well, it's harder when you're thirty-one, than when you're eighteen. And it's even harder when you've got a major strike against you, like I have. And don't give me anything about it not being a strike because of the vi – uh, because of the technology I use. It's off-putting to a lot of women who would otherwise be fine with differences."

"It's prejudice."

"Maybe a bit, but it's also a fear of the unknown. See, the people of this time period, they don't have a monopoly on fear of the unknown. I, I know you want to get home. And I do, too – despite my behavior. But if there can be a little sweetness for me before we leave – even if this doesn't go anywhere and it's just a pleasant afternoon we spent with a nice girl – well, will you begrudge me that?"

"Of course not," Wes said, "just don't forget what we've gotta do."

"What is it you've gotta do?" asked a familiar voice. It was Rosemary, who had come to check on them.

"Geordi?" Wes prompted.

"Get home," he replied, "Rosemary, Wes and I have to repair our, our car and get home, and soon."

"Oh," she said, a bit of disappointment creeping into her voice.

"We would still like to see you home," Wes said, "we think it's the right thing to do and all."

"All right," she said, "it's just a short streetcar ride away."

They got onto the next streetcar. "Yanno, Wes," Geordi said as the streetcar started moving, "these things never seem to change. We all pack in like sardines and it never seems to move fast enough."

"Do you wanna sit down, Mister?" asked a child's voice.

"Are you, uh, are you speaking to me?" Geordi asked.

"Mister, do you wanna sit down?" repeated the child.

"No, that's all right. But the young lady who is with us, maybe she would like to do that," he paused for a second, and then said to Wesley, "I can't figure these people out. Some of them wouldn't be caught dead being anywhere near me, while others are going out of their way to be kind or even charitable in their own way."

"I'm not so sure I get it, either," Wesley said.

"I get it," Rosemary said, "it's because we're all individuals. Some people are kind, some are not, some are confused, some don't know what to do, and still others are clumsy but they mean well. It takes all kinds, you know."

"I know a Beta – a lady who would probably say something similar," Wes said.


	5. Chapter 5

Rosemary's home was within a modest brownstone, a third floor walk-up. Geordi could hear her key scraping in the lock. There was a middle-aged man inside, sitting at the kitchen table. "Papa!" she exclaimed, and went over to hug him. "These are my friends, Wesley Crusher and Geordi La Forge. May I set extra places for them?"

Her father looked them up and down skeptically. "How do you know my daughter?"

"We met her at the ballgames today, sir," Wes said, "uh; we don't need to stay for dinner."

"Rosemary's knowledge of the Senators and the Red Sox is impressive," Geordi said, extending his hand.

Her father ignored the gesture. "You blind?"

"Yes, sir," Geordi said.

"And you, what are you doing in my home?" he said to Wesley, a bit defensively.

"Papa!"

"Don't you Papa me! I got neither the time nor the money to be feeding white boys who can fend for themselves. And as for the other one, Rosemary, come with me."

The two of them left the room. "This is not good," Wes said.

Rosemary and her father could be heard speaking. "Rosie, honey, you gotta understand! I am saving to send you to secretarial school so's you can meet a fella with a future! Not so you can play nursemaid to a blind man."

"These are nice people! And I am not husband-hunting! I met them at Griffith Stadium! We had a good time and I wanted to invite them to dinner. They are leaving soon. Papa, I just want to make some friends. That's all."

"Why didn't you take up with one o' Freddie's older friends from when you two were kids? Then I wouldn't be worryin' about you. If your mother were alive, maybe she'd be able to talk some sense into your head."

"Papa! These men are just friends!"

"No, Rosie. That blind fella, he wants to be more than friends. And I don't trust the other one. Why should I trust a white boy who's got nothin' better to do than lead around a blind colored fella? What kind of a bum is he?"

"Papa, aren't you always the one talking about charity?"

"For our kind, Rosie! God helps those that help themselves. We have a community and we look out for each other. That does not extend to strangers, particularly white strangers."

"Doesn't the Bible talk about loving thy neighbor? And taking in the stranger when he has no friends? Didn't Lot do that, and he was saved from being destroyed with everyone else at Sodom and Gomorrah. And didn't the Good Samaritan help the wounded man, even though they were mortal enemies? Those are the stories that you taught me, Papa. Or are you gonna tell me now that the Bible is wrong, Reverend Elisha Parker?"

There was quiet for a moment, and Wesley knew that it would all be decided, one way or the other.

"All right," her father finally conceded. "But I will still have a nice talk with them."

"All right, Papa," she said.

The two of them returned to the kitchen. "Mister La Forge, may I speak with you in the parlor?" asked the father.

"Sure, just, uh, can you guide me there?"

=/\=

Wesley helped Rosemary in the kitchen, and she was pleasantly surprised that he was doing so. "Freddie never used to help. He always said it was women's work and all."

"Oh, it's no trouble. What do you think they're talking about?"

"Oh, my father's probably giving Geordi the third degree. See, my father is a preacher. He only wants what's best for me. And it's just him and me now. I don't think he'll rest until I get married to someone who can provide for me properly."

"Oh. What happened to, uh, to, you said his name was Freddie."

"He, uh, it was a couple of years ago. You see, when we were still in High School, our mother got sick and had a heart attack and passed on. Freddie fell in with a group of, well; it was not a good group. He passed a little over a year after she did."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's all right, you were curious. I said his name enough times. You're bright so of course you'd be curious. And he, before he did bad things, Freddie was a baseball fan, so he bought tickets for three seasons ahead. He spent all of his summer wages on baseball tickets. He just wanted to be ready for anything. Silly boy."

She paused for a second, remembering. "When he passed, I found the tickets in the top drawer of his dresser, and I started going, and I started to get interested in the game. It was something to do to pass the time, and I also managed my grief that way, I guess. If I was sitting in Freddie's seat, then I could say that he was still alive; it was just that he couldn't make it or something. And I fooled myself a bit, into thinking that he was still around."

"It's okay to have an illusion like that," Wesley said, "my father died when I was six. I've carried around a few illusions like that, myself."

"I imagine so," she said, "Wesley; can you get the gravy boat from the top shelf? I can't reach it without getting on a chair."

"Sure."

=/\=

"So, what intentions do you have toward my daughter?" Reverend Parker asked.

"Sir?"

"Intentions. Surely you know what that means."

"I do," Geordi said, and took a deep breath, "Wes and me aren't staying. We are, our car is damaged and we need to get some tin and iron and carbon in order to fix it. Once we've fixed it, we'll be on our way."

"Carbon - you mean like coal?"

"Yeah, that's a form of carbon," Geordi said.

"We have some in the chute," Reverend Parker said.

"Rosemary mentioned there's a city dump where we could get the remainder. Sir, we're not here to take advantage of your daughter. Wes and I just wanna get home. We're strangers here, and it's just good to make a connection with someone, and be welcomed. So many people here haven't welcomed us."

The Reverend thought for a moment. "Son, we moved here sixteen years ago, when Rosemary was only five. I got a new congregation. We had been living in Greenville, South Carolina - that's where we're from -and there was a cross burned on a neighbor's lawn. I suppose we should've stayed and fought, but the children were young and my wife was afraid. I, when they're afraid, you know you can't just dismiss it."

He took a deep breath. "We came here, and we were not welcomed too well, either. But we had committed ourselves, so we stayed, and we made the most of it. Freddie and Rosemary went to school. My wife baked and cooked for our church. And I gave sermons and did all of that, thundering from the pulpit like I was almost a Baptist version of Charles Coughlin. And it didn't matter too much, for my wife was taken a few years ago and then Freddie, too. Now, I don't know what business brings you here to Washington. Still, son, can you see why I am perhaps a bit overly protective?"


End file.
